


Underneath the Armor

by Ketlingr



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Autistic Tony Stark, Gen, MIT Era, Teen Tony Stark, Tony Stark-centric, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketlingr/pseuds/Ketlingr
Summary: A collection of Tony-centric one-shots and prompt fills of varying length. If you're here for fluffy, angsty or funny Tony stories, you'll feel right at home.They are in no particular order (because I receive the prompts at random on tonystarkstoga @ tumblr), but it can be assumed that at least some of them happen in the same timeline. It's a big mix and match game ;)





	1. 1 - Why is there a rabbit in the room?

**“Why is there a rabbit in the room?”**

“It’s a bunny,” Tony said defensively. When Steve poked his head around the large object, the other Avengers appearing behind him one by one, Tony raised his hands defensively. “It’s… Pepper.”

“It’s Pepper?!” By the look on Steve’s face Tony guessed he was either worried about how he had managed to turn Pepper into a large stuffed bunny, or about Tony’s mental health. Which, hey, that would be progress. But it was probably the former.

“It’s not literally Pepper.” Rolling his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest - and definitely avoiding to answer the actual question.

“It has boobs,” Clint commented, poking one of the stuffed globes.

“Hey, hey - don’t grope it. It’s not boobs, that’s the arms, you tit.” Bird pun. Good job.

“Tony,” Steve had put on his serious voice. His ‘you’re such a child, Stark’ voice. Tony sat up straight, tilting his head down to look sufficiently attentive and chided. “What is this thing and why is it here?”

Well that was the big question, wasn’t it? On pure instinct, Tony jumped to his feet, ready to find an exit. Only that the only exit from this room was blocked by a large stuffed bunny and almost half a dozen Avengers. He casually poked the bunny’s cheek and inspected it’s floppy ear to avoid looking too awkward - nervous fidgeting wasn’t a good look, not in front of his team, not in front of anyone, really. Tony didn’t even like the look of it in front of a mirror.

“Pepper sent it,” he said after a brief pause, dropping the ear and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“That is good news!” Thor boomed. He had managed to squeaze himself past the stuffed animal and was now putting a strong hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing. “So you have reconciled?” The proud look on his face only made Tony squirm more as he grimaced and stepped away sideways, away from the squeezing hand.

“Yeah, no. I… it was a gift.” Confused looks. “From me. For… Pepper. It’s a tough thing,” he kicked the bunny half-heartedly. “Survived the Mandarin attack, you know, the time they blew up my house? Not a scratch on this thing.” He kicked it again, his face expressionless, hands still in his pockets.

“What are you going to do with it?” Of course Bruce was the first to find words. He was the one least surprised be the development of these events. It was almost funny how sorry Steve looked, how Thor had dropped his arm to his side as though he’d forgotten how to use it. There was an expectant pause filling the room, inflating until it took up more space than the stupid bunny.

“Target practice,” Tony decided.


	2. 2 - I didn't think you'd take that literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a terribly short one. Really more of a scene than even a oneshot. Apologies.

**“I didn’t think you’d take that literally.”  
**

Tony looked down at the mechanical arm in his hands. Then back up - well not up, but rather towards - the talking raccoonperson.

“W… you said you needed it,” Tony stated with a small shrug, as though asking for people’s limbs was a perfectly reasonably thing to do. And it probably was when you were building an alien device from scraps.

“They said you’re a genius. Clearly people don’t always speak the truth,” Rocket shook his head. “Really, I just need you to help me disassemble the other stuff so we’re faster.” He kept looking at Tony as though he had just seriously started to doubt the man’s intelligence. After all, Rocket didn’t have enough fingers to count how many people had warned Stark about this.

Shrugging again, Tony set the arm aside carefully.

“Lot of useful parts in an arm,” he muttered. He would know, he had built a bunch of them.

“How did you even get the guy to give you his arm?”

“I’m Iron Man. I asked.” People were very eager to help even when there wasn’t an ongoing alien invasion. Right now the only reason people hadn’t thrown their mechanical arm prosthetics at Tony was that most people didn’t have one. “I’ll make him a new one when this is all over.”


	3. 3 - That's almost the exact opposite of what I was going for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had some feelings about Pepper I needed to deal with. Tony deserves better.   
> (Strictly MCU related).

**“That’s almost the exact opposite of what I was going for.“**

Oh and wasn’t that the understatement of the century? It was also very likely not what he should have said, as the bags kept flying past him, only inches away from his face. Was she aiming for him? Strongly reminded of a similar incident, Tony tried to remember if had threatened any terrorists lately. Nope, none. In fact, he hadn’t threatened anyone and Pepper had no reason to… or did she? Sprinting up the stairs to their shared bedroom, Tony started before he had even reached the end of the staircase.

“Look, I just… listen, stop for a while, can we just… can we talk about this?” He came to a stop in the doorway and was hit in the chest by dufflebag. Briefly, he wondered why Pepper had so many bags. Had she bought them all, just for this or had she always had them, stashed away behind some door? It stung to realise that it wasn’t terribly unlikely that she’d had a way out from the start. Tony wasn’t known to be exactly… companionable.

“We already talked about this,” Pepper snapped, out of breath from packing and throwing things. She didn’t even pause when Tony caught the next bag with both hands. Before he could speak up, she turned, and lifted her hand to stop him. “We talked about this when you decided to choose your hobby over your girlfriend, Tony. We talked. About this.”

And for a moment Tony was confused, and tempted to simply say ‘no we didn’t’, because he honestly didn’t think they had. Because if they had, Pepper would know it wasn’t a hobby. Wouldn’t she? She would know that it wasn’t a choice he could make. Wouldn’t she? She would understand… wouldn’t she? It was the realisation that, no, she wouldn’t; no, she hadn’t, that really left Tony speachless.

“I thought you were done with this,” Pepper said instead, gesturing at the floor. Tony guessed she didn’t mean the room, but rather the workshop that was two floors underneath them. “The suits, the… obsession.” She spat the word like it was a bad habit, grimacing. “How long has it been since we even shared a bed, Tony?”

“The last time we shared a bed almost got you killed,” he said automatically. Sure he missed sleeping next to her - but he was still glad if he could sleep at all, and he wasn’t going to risk hurting her, even though he had recalibrated the suits and everything.

“You need to get your mind straight, Tony. You can’t live like this!”

Suddenly, Tony was very aware of the bag in his hands.

“No,” he said, nodding his head slowly. He sounded resigned, but the frown on his face cleared up as he looked up at her. “You can’t live like this.” And that was it. He set her bag on the floor and - left. Just turned and left. Because really, it wasn’t about him, anyway.


	4. 4 - You have no right to fall in love with me!

“How drunk were you last night?”

“I’m still wearing my pants, so… not that drunk.” Tony had to look down, past his new MIT hoodie, at his legs to confirm his assumption, because it wasn’t always the case that Rhodey found him dressed when Tony had slept on the floor - or other, less comfortable places. His friend gave him enough time to get to his feet before he continued speaking, arms crossed in front of his chest:

“These aren’t your pants, Tony.” Cue a moment’s hesitation, just long enough to make a decision.

“They are now.” It was so hard to find a good pair of pants. The right fit, just tight enough for the right kind of pressure, withought being restricting. Soft enough to not be scratchy, but not so worn he’d get odd looks wearing them. Not that his parents didn’t give him remarks anyway, they -

“Tony, are you listening?”

Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets to stop his fidgeting and looked up at Rhodey, forcing himself to focus on the spot between his friend’s eyebrows.

“You can’t just keep these, they’re not yours.”

“Sure I can. I’ll pay for them.”

“That’s not how it works, you can’t just… what if people were taking your things?”

“That’s different.” He didn’t like that look Rhodey had on his face. It meant disapproval - most looks that weren’t smiles meant disapproval, Tony head learned. “They’re mine,” he added, both to invalidate Rhodey’s argument and regarding the jeans he was wearing.

The other man sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Fine. I’ll find whoever you stole these from and-”  
“I didn’t steal them, I bought them.”

“You have not bought them, Tony.”

“I will have bought them. Once I remember who I will have had to have paid for them.” And that answered the question about how drunk he had been the night before. He gave a full-body shrug. The fact that Tony couldn’t remember the answer to that should have been answer enough, anyway. Luckily, he was both young and practiced enough to come away from a night like that without too much of a hangover. Nothing a few mugs of coffee couldn’t fix.

It took Rhodey less than three hours to figure out who Tony had hooked up with - and whose jeans Tony was wearing. As it turned out, said person didn’t mind his “old pants” had gone missing. He was notorious for sleeping around and occasionally leaving his hookups souvenirs. Just like Tony, he could afford to buy himself new clothes instead of washing is existing once - not that Tony did that, he preferred to wear his things until they fell apart, and then some - and thus didn’t really mind leaving sweaters, jeans, shirts and even underwear behind. If anything, he was embarrassed to have worn jeans that old in the first place, but Tony had caught him on a lazy day.

Rhodey called him ‘the guy from the appartment opposite of Rosa’s’, because that’s how he’d tracked him down. Rosa, a mutual friend of his and Tony’s, had seen the guy stumble home early this morning in his shirt and briefs, obviously still pretty drunk. Since they all three didn’t know his name, and nobody had bothered to find it out, Tony called him ‘Gene’, because he had his jeans and he didn’t like French. Which in the end didn’t keep him from yelling,

“Hey, Jean Val-Jeans,” down the hallway once he had spotted Gene. Judging by what Tony could see poking out of his paper shopping bag, the guy had gone out to shop for hangover cures.

“Whaddaya want, kiddo?” Gene slurred, obviously not in the mood for any kind of conversation. “I told your boyfriend you can keep the pants.” That much Tony knew already. Not that he cared much. What bothered him was that he was determined to pay for them, and Gene had sent Rhodey back home with the money. Tony didn’t just steal pants.

“Not-my-boyfriend forgot to give you this,” Tony said, now caught up with Gene and holding out an envelop with some cash that should cover at least two new pairs of jeans. To his relief, Gene took it, apparently unwilling to prolong their talk by discussing the necessity of beign paid for an old pair of jeans. There was something else on his face, something Tony couldn’t really pin down.

“Look, kiddo,” Gene said and took a step back. Too close, Tony thought, he had been standing too close again and hadn’t noticed. Gods damn it. “What we did was a one time thing. You have no right to fall in love with me.”

All his words were gone while Tony tried to comprehend those words. It was Gene’s impatient sigh that called his attention back to the conversation. He had probably zoned out for a while.

“What does that even mean?” Tony asked, frowning. “It’s not like I’d need your permission, I mean, it’s not about rights anyway, that’s just-” he would probably have gone on, but was interrupted by a door closing in his face. “That’s rude,” he commented. Frowning at the door for a little while, Tony finally decided to go home. Halfway down the corridor though, he turned on his heels and marched back to the door. “I don’t love you, I just like your jeans,” he yelled at the door, scowled, and left.


	5. Fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of a sentence prompt, this time the prompt was a song: "Fading" by William Bolton.

 

Tony groaned when the low hum of vibrations against his mattress woke him up. Again. A glance at the alarm clock projected onto the wall to his right told him it was closing in on four in the morning. 

“Why do you keep calling?” Tony sighed into his pillow. As though in response, the vibration stopped. He was tempted to kick the bothersome phone off the bed. But he didn’t. Just as he hadn’t thrown it in the trash. For long. 

Head buried in the pillow, Tony could smell the alcohol on his breath and grimaced. 

“Fuck you, Steve Rogers,” he growled and rolled out of bed, grabbing the phone without thinking and dropping it into the pocket of his sweat pants. Displeased, Tony made his way to the bathroom. Certainly this was some sort of torture, why did he let that guy do this to him? He could simply leave that damned phone in another room for gods sake, if he didn’t just want to get rid of it altogether. Toothbrush in one hand, Tony patted his side with the other to check that he had really taken the device with him. He stared at the dark circles under his eyes while he brushed.

Why was he calling? It wasn’t to ask how Tony was doing, surely, Steve didn’t care about that. He hadn’t even when he was still living in New York, so why would he now? Was it an emergency? It would explain why the phone barely ever stopped vibrating for an hour at a time. Did that man ever sleep? 

‘Maybe he wants to make some more excuses,’ Tony thought, spitting into the sink. The disdainful huff in his head was drawn out while he rinsed his toothbrush and flushed his mouth. 

He really didn’t need this. Didn’t need Steve. He had moved on - if there was anything to move on from to begin with. Steve had made it abundantly clear that they hadn’t been friends. 

‘Then why don’t you stop thinking about him and just go back to bed and sleep?’ Tony glared at his reflection. 

“You’re not helping.” He imagined his reflection shrugging, imagined the voice in his head saying ‘But I’m right, and you know it.’ Tony did know. For some reason, that only made matters worse. Even though he knew he was acting irrationally, he had no intention of stopping himself. It had felt so good to cut ties with Steve, why was he holding on to the ends now? 

After a while, the vibration against his leg woke him from staring at himself. The tension in his neck told him he had been standing there for quite some time. Perhaps he had even fallen asleep standing up. Stranger things had happened. 

Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulled out the flip phone. The vibration made his hand feel weird. Not taking his eyes off the display, Tony dragged himself to the kitchen and made himself a coffee. 

‘It won’t stop ringing,’ he thought dimly, heaving himself onto the counter to sit next to his steaming mug. There was a stabbing pain above his temples, throbbing in time with the rhythmic vibration of the call. ‘He’s never going to stop.’ 

Tony lifted the phone and flipped it open. 

_ “Tony?” _ The muffled voice on the other end sounded surprised, as far as Tony could tell, holding the phone between his thumb and index finger on eye-level. “ _ Tony? _ ” the voice repeated. 

‘No explosions,’ Tony thought numbly and something left him. He moved the hand holding the phone to his side and let the device drop. A few scalding splashes of coffee hit his thighs through the sweat pants, but a calm smile spread across Tony’s face. Sliding off the counter, Tony went back to bed. 


End file.
